Ultimate Supernatural Horror Box Set (88 page)

From now on, every old man whose thumbs he broke would have Ivan’s face superimposed over his own. And George expected to start doing some mad cackling in the near future.

The black cop lay on the ground, walkie-talkie to his lips. “Officer down...” he said, voice weak. The white cop looked at George with pleading eyes, which was one of the only facial features that was still recognizable. George was not a cop-hater--he had no problem with them or their duties as long as they weren’t specifically coming after him--and he felt horrible. What if the guy had kids? Still, there was no time to offer a moment of comfort. He hurried past the cops and went back into the bar.

He could hear somebody sobbing upstairs. He wondered how badly the woman up there had been hurt when she got shot.

George ran to the booth where they’d sat in slightly happier times. He stepped on some viscera but, thankfully, did not slip on it.

He picked up the suitcase, the side of which was stained with werewolf blood. He quickly glanced around for the guns they’d dropped, or the sharpened cross, or Lou’s switchblade, but didn’t immediately see them and he could hear sirens in the distance, so he ran back out of the bar. Not stepping in blood was a challenge.

Now they needed a vehicle. George and Lou both knew how to hotwire a car, but it wasn’t as easy of a task as it looked in the movies. They couldn’t do it here. Hopefully they’d find another car relatively nearby where they could break in without arousing suspicion.

* * *

Ivan was getting blood all over the seat. Good. Another reason for Bateman to hunt down his unfortunate, incompetent thugs. Ivan rubbed his palm on the dashboard, smearing blood everywhere.

No, wait. He didn’t want George and Lou to get exterminated by their employer. That would be too painless, even if Bateman used a red-hot poker and a cheese grater. And besides, Ivan wouldn’t get to watch.

He stuck his tongue in the gap from his missing tooth. He’d never lost a fang before. He didn’t think it would grow back.

He could turn the van around and--

No.

Let them go. Even if their ghastly fate didn’t come at his hands, he had to let this drop. He was too badly injured right now. Werewolves who didn’t learn from the past ten minutes were condemned to repeat them.

It was also disappointing that Michele hadn’t come with them. He still wanted to sink his teeth into her. He wondered where she’d gone.

Then he laughed out loud. He knew exactly where a person in her position would go. The GPS was still mounted on the dashboard, so he bloodied up the screen and found the nearest hospital. Six miles away. He floored the accelerator and sped off.

* * *

Right after she’d gotten into his car, Michele suddenly decided that the burly guy was a serial killer, and that her arms and legs would turn up in four different counties. Then she decided that he was just kind of weird.

When the chaos inside the tavern began, she’d rolled down the window, leaned out, and vomited onto the pavement. She should’ve called the police sooner, but she didn’t want them to scare Ivan away.

The man had insisted that they drive off. She’d protested. The man had explained that it was his car and that she was welcome to get out. She’d decided that it was time to revert back to her stance on tornado chasers and leave with him.

“Could you take me to the hospital?” she’d asked.

“Of course.”

There hadn’t been much in the way of conversation during the drive. He kept asking her if she was okay. He kept insisting that she’d be fine. She kept thanking him for going out of his way to help her. He kept saying that it was absolutely no problem.

He pulled right up in front of the emergency room entrance. “Do you want me to come in with you?” he asked.

Michele shook her head. “No, I’ll be fine. You’ve done enough.”

She got out of the car, waved goodbye, and shut the door. She caught a flash of movement in the glass door, turned around, and the werewolf pounced upon her. The punch to her stomach knocked the wind out of her.

Michele tried to scream as Ivan tossed her over his shoulder but couldn’t find her voice. He ran off, claws digging into her back, and then within a few seconds they were behind George and Lou’s black van. The back doors were open.

Ivan tossed her into the cage. She landed on her elbow, crying out in pain. Ivan slammed the cage door shut and transformed back into a human predator.

The man who’d given her a ride was running towards the van, but he’d never make it in time. Michele tried not to cry as Ivan shut the van doors, got back into the driver’s seat, and peeled out of the hospital parking lot.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Grand Theft Auto

There was a small restaurant two buildings away from the Cotton Mouse Tavern with parking in the back. George and Lou walked back there and glanced at the selection of about four cars.

“That one?” George asked, pointing at a rusty orange Chevrolet. It looked like the oldest one, the least likely to have an alarm, and the least likely to give them problems with the hotwiring process. Hopefully it belonged to an employee and not a diner. Less chance of them being discovered, unless somebody took a smoke break.

“Yeah, that works.”

They walked over to the car. With the proper tools, either one of them could break into a car with no noise or damage to the vehicle, but at the moment they didn’t have tools or time. Lou picked up a rock and smashed the driver’s side window. Though the noise seemed like a nuclear blast, there was loud music coming from inside the restaurant and hopefully nobody overheard them.

George got in the car, reached over, and unlocked the passenger side door for Lou. As Lou got in, George immediately looked around the car for a screwdriver or something that could be used like one.

There was plenty of litter in the front seat, but fast food containers and soda cans weren’t going to help them. Lou popped open the glove compartment and quickly rifled through the contents. “Nothing here.”

George twisted around and searched the back seat. More fast food containers, a few magazines, a Justin Timberlake CD with a cracked jewel case...and a hammer. Good enough. George picked it up off the back seat.

“I can’t believe he stole our van,” said Lou.

“He’ll suffer for it.”

“He might not. Karma seems to be on his side.”

George pushed his seat back and adjusted his position so he could use the claw end of the hammer to break open the access panel beneath the steering wheel. The seat was a tight fit already, so this would be a lot easier if he could crouch outside the vehicle and lean inside, but that might attract unwanted attention.

“Karma? Why would he have karma?”

“I don’t know. I mean, maybe we’re being punished for what we’ve done. You know, hurting people and stuff.”

“Give me a break, Lou. A sociopathic werewolf is not going to have better karma than us. You’re just having brain problems from all the blood you’ve lost.”

Lou looked horrible. Ivan had really done a number on him. The entire bottom half of his face was stained red from the four cuts on his cheek, and the rest of his body looked like he’d been in a losing battle with a Weedwhacker. Good thing Lou was one tough son of a bitch.

Lou scratched at his chin, which had several blisters on it. “Maybe.”

“Is that a burn?”

“Yeah. My face went on a grill.”

“How the hell did your face go on a grill?”

“He pushed me on it.”

“That’s crazy.” George strained to pry off the access panel, but it wasn’t budging. “Are you going to bleed to death?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Let me know if you get close.”

“I will.”

“I’m glad he didn’t kill you.”

“Aw, that’s sweet,” said Lou. “I’m glad he didn’t kill you, too.”

“Of course, before too much longer, we might be wishing that he killed us both.”

“Nah, I think we’ll be okay.”

“Why would you think something stupid like that?”

“Well, we aren’t dead
yet
, are we? We’re luckier than a bunch of other people tonight.”

George sighed. “Don’t remind me. Do you think that was all our fault?”

“Do you think there’s any way it
couldn’t
be?”

“I was hoping for a guilt loophole.”

Lou shook his head. “Nah. I hate to say this, but it’s our fault those people got murdered. Ivan did it, but it’s still our fault.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you stab him eight thousand times with the cross on your bracelet?”

“Didn’t get the chance.”

“I’d suggest that you sharpen it, but then there wouldn’t be anything left.”

“Bite me. Like I said before, how do we know the ‘cross stops vampires’ idea didn’t come from werewolves? Did you see the way his flesh sizzled? Maybe the cross had as much to do with it as the silver.”

“You could be right.”

“I bet I am.”

“This goddamn access panel won’t come off.”

“Can I help?”

“How are you going to help? I can barely get in here by myself.”

“I was just offering. Don’t be rude to somebody who might be bleeding to death.”

“I think you’d be talking less if you were really bleeding to death.” The corner of the access panel came loose...and then snapped off. “Damn it!”

“Do you want to switch spots?”

“No, just let me do this.” George wedged the claw end of the hammer in the crack and began to pull.

“Where do you think Michele went?”

“Straight to the cops.”

“You’re probably right. At least we didn’t get her killed.”

“Yeah. I’d be so much more bothered by this situation if we were responsible for eight deaths at the bar instead of seven. At least he didn’t make his prediction.”

“I’m just going to stop talking to you until you’re done with the car.”

The access panel broke in half. “Damn it!”

“We should place a bet on how this night ends. Jail, death, or escape?”

“How much are we betting?”

“How much do you want to bet?”

“Twenty bucks.”

“Let’s do twenty-five.”

“Fine,” said George, breaking off the rest of the panel. “You pick first.”

“I’ll pick ‘escape.’ That way I can enjoy my twenty-five bucks.”

“I’ll pick jail.”

“Good choice. I’m glad to hear that you’re not completely cynical.”

George leaned forward and tried to duck his head underneath the steering wheel. Not a chance. There simply wasn’t room.

“If you pop the trunk, I’ll see if I can find a flashlight,” said Lou.

“It’s not the light.” He opened the door. “Keep watch. Let me know if somebody’s coming.

“Will do.”

George got out of the car and crouched down. There were several wires beneath where the panel had been. The shadow of the steering wheel made it hard to see their colors, but he didn’t want to admit to Lou that he really could use a flashlight.

His cell phone rang. “Aw, crap.”

“Is it Ricky?”

George pulled the cell phone out of his pocket. The shell was cracked, but it still seemed to be working. He flipped it open. “Yeah, it’s him.”

“Want me to talk to him?”

“Nah, I’ve got it.” He punched the “talk” button. “Hello?”

“George! Who do you love?”

“Right now I pretty much hate everybody.”

Ricky chuckled. “Aw, don’t talk like that. I’m about to become your very best friend. Even though you’re heterosexual, you’re going to want to make sweet love to me. I’ll turn down your advances, but you’ll be insistent, and finally--”

“Will you get to the point?”

“If you’re going to act that way, maybe I won’t.”

George found the two red wires he needed. If he had a pair of wire strippers, this next part would take a couple of seconds, but he’d have to use the claw hammer, which was going to be a bitch.

“Ricky, just tell me the good news,” George said.

“He has good news?” Lou asked.

“Salvation is near. Werewolf Hunters Incorporated--that’s not their real name, that’s just what I’m calling them--is in the area. I don’t think they have an actual name, or if they do nobody told me, but they are armed to the frickin’ teeth and that werewolf is
toast
, baby!”

George scraped the claw of the hammer against the first red wire. “They’re going to kill it?”

“No. I guess I didn’t mean ‘toast’ like
toast
, y’know, dead. I just meant that they’re gonna catch it. Then we’ll throw it back in the cage, get it to Dewey, and everybody can kiss and make up.”

“Ah.”

“You should be a lot happier than you sound. What’s wrong? Did you kill the werewolf? Please tell me you didn’t kill the werewolf.”

“No. But there was a...uh, slaughter.”

“What?”

“He murdered a bunch of people.”

“How many is a bunch? Fifty?”

“No. Nine or ten.”

“Nine or ten? He killed nine or ten people? Aw, shit, the cops are going to be crawling all over this!”

“And he mauled two cops.”

“Mother fuck!”

“I’m sorry.”

“Y’know, I actually had two minutes of happiness where I thought everything was going to be okay. That’s what I was thinking: ‘Wow, this was a bad scene for a while, but help is almost there and everything will be fine. I’m sure my good buddies George and Lou won’t screw things up any worse than they already have, right? Oh, no, they’re professionals, they won’t cause me to have to chug down any more Peptol Bismol! It’s all wonderful! Life is ducky!’“

The claw hammer was sort of working, but not efficiently, and George was scraping carefully to avoid accidentally cutting the wire in half. “I’m really kind of busy right now,” said George.

“Busy?
Busy
? Are you seriously trying to tell me that you’re too busy to talk to me?”

“Will you please get to the point?”

“I need you to punch this address into your GPS. Are you ready?”

“We don’t have the GPS.”

“Why the fuck don’t you have the GPS?”

George saw no reason to confess
everything
that had gone wrong. “It broke.”